Fifty Shades of Klaine
by SteviStories
Summary: Fifty Shades of Grey Klaine style: When Kurt Hummel meets a one Blaine Anderson and falls in love with the mysterious man. He admits he wants Kurt too—but on his own terms. Not a cross-over Glee AU. WARNING: future chapters will contain smut, S&M kinky things, and boy on boy. Don't Like don't read!
1. Chapter 1 - Intro

Glee's Klaine to the plot of Fifty Shades of Grey (though I will keep the main characteristics and Personalities of Glee so it's not just like I'm replacing the names). Note this is not a cross-over; also you don't need to have read Fifty Shades to read this (though this will contain Spoilers on the books in case you want to read it later). This is obvious AU so in this Fic Blaine will be older then Kurt and Kurt and Blaine have never met yet. This will be in Kurt's POV

Anastasia Steele = Kurt Hummel

Christian Grey = Blaine Anderson

WARNING: future chapters will contain smut, S&M kinky things, and boy on boy. Don't Like don't read!

Fifty Shades of Klaine: Chapter one

I look in the mirror in concentration trying to get my Hair perfectly in place. I reach for the hairspray only to find it on its last spray. Damn hairspray and Damn Rachel Berry for letting herself succumb to a cold making me do her work. Playing with my hair I realize it's the best I can do with no hairspray. I must remember to pick up more on the way back. Fixing my hair out of my face I stare at myself; big blue eyes, Light brown hair, and flawless pale almost fluorescent skin. Daily moisturizing routines insured it. Fixing on my Favorite Hippo pendant on my Marc Jacobs Jacob I finally looks presentable.

Rachel is my roommate in New York, although I knew her since high school when we were both in show choir together in Lima Ohio. Both of us wanted to get out of that cow town and shared the love and dreams of New York City. Rachel was going to school at a prestigious school called NYADA for drama. I wanted to do the same but my dreams of Broadway had been momentarily squashed when I didn't get in. So while I prepare to try again next year have a job interning in fashion.

Rachel, being the extra-achiever, also works for the student paper, but out of all days pick today to fall ill to a common cold the day she is scheduled an interview a big, newly famous director ( even though I have never actually heard of him).So I have volunteered (though I was pushed to do so) to fill in for her. The thing about Rachel is she will prod and push until she gets what she wants, which is why she was able to get said interview. Apparently this guy was too important then to take much time out of his day to do interviews. Rescheduling would take forever which is why I was filling in. Damn that Rachel Berry and her extra-curricular activities. Rachel is sprawled on the cheap sofa we own.

"Kurt, I'm sorry. Getting that interview was hell and would be hell again to reschedule. As a freshman at NYADA I have to prove myself and blowing this off would be the complete opposite of what I want to achieve. Please," She begs me, her usual loud clear voice sounding raspy and faded. She has her brown hair up in a messy bun on the top of her head, shivering although she has an ugly red sweater with reindeer on it. It's hard to feel some sympathy for that girl with that horrendous sweater on. I should really burn it when she's not looking.

"Of course I'll go Rach. Why don't you try to nap? Do you want something for your throat?"

"Some warm tea please. Not too hot. I have to take good care of my vocal chords. Here are the questions and my disc recorder. You press her to start recording and hit it again to stop."

"Okay, here's your tea. I hope you know I know nothing about this guy." I say icily while inside I start to slowly panic.

"Just ask him the list of questions I wrote for you and you should be fine. Now go traffic is bad and showing up late would make me look bad."

"Yes because it's all about you Rachel" I retort with an eye roll, "I made you some soup for you to warm up later, all vegan. Please don't burn down the apartment while I'm gone".

"Kurt, thank you so much. You don't know how all this means to me. Good Luck!"

Grabbing my Satchel I give her a sarcastic smile, and then head out the door to hail a cab. After managing to catch a cab I slide in with ease and tell the taxi driver the address. The taxi driver is a beefy man with a thick black short beard and beady black eyes wearing a horrible flannel shirt. Suppressing a comment on his fashion sense I lean back onto the cheap fake leather seat. I cannot believe I let Rachel talk me into this. Then again Rachel can talk almost anybody into anything if she blabbers and nags enough. She is talented, argumentative, and highly annoying – and naturally my best friend.

As we set off the traffic in the city is heavy, like it is every day. I don't have to be there until two hours but with the way the traffic is looking the way it is I have no time to spare. My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Anderson's New York Office. It's a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect's utilitarian fantasy, with 'Anderson' written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. It's almost two pm when I arrive, elated that I managed to not be late as I walk into the giant – and very expensive looking –lobby. I am impressed at the glass, steel, and white sandstone styled lobby, trying not to gape at it like an idiot.

Behind the solid dark wooded desk, a very attractive, well groomed, long haired dirty blonde young man smiles pleasantly at me. He is wearing an almost sheer white button down shirt with a sharp charcoal suit jacket and matching dress pants. He looks immaculate.

"I'm here to see Mr. Anderson. Umm Kurt Hummel for Rachel Berry."

"Excuse me one moment Mr. Hummel". He arches his eyebrow slightly as I stand self-consciously before him. I wish I would have asked Isabelle if I could have borrowed something more stunning then what I had. I had made an effort though, and wore what I had spent an hour picking out. Then again it almost takes me that long on a normal day. I put one hand sassily on my hip while the other brushes back a piece of my hair, pretending not to be intimidated.

"Miss Berry is to be expected. Please sign in here Mr. Hummel. You'll then head to the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor". He smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign in. He hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can't help my smirk, almost chuckling out loud. Surely it's obvious that I'm just visiting. I don't fit in here at all. Nothing changes after high school, I inwardly sigh. Thanking him, I walk over to the bank of elevators past the two security men who are both smartly dressed in their well-cut black suits. I am impressed by the over-all fashion sense everyone here seems to have.

The elevator lifts me smoothly to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I'm in another large lobby – again all glass, steel, and white sandstone themed. I'm confronted by another desk of sandstone and another young blonde, this time a woman, dressed impeccably in black and white rises to greet me.

"Mr. Hummel, could you wait here, please?" She points to a seated area of comfy looking white leather chairs. Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of New York City. It's a stunning site, and I'm momentarily frozen by the view. Wow. Plopping down on one of the seats I pull out my iphone to pass the time by listening to some music. Nothing soothes my nerves like classic Broadway songs. I wish I knew more about this guy. I don't even know his age. I'm almost halfway 'Someone Else's Story' from Chess when another flawless blonde (though defiantly not naturally) male comes out of a large door to the right. Seriously what is with all the blondes? They look like Barbie-reject clones.

Mr. Anderson will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?"

"Oh no thank you."

"Have you been offered any refreshment?"

"Um – no." Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?

Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young man at the desk.

"Would you like tea, coffee, water?" she asks, turning his attention back to me.

"A glass of water would be nice. Thank you," I murmur.

"Juan, please fetch Mr. Hummel a glass of water." Her voice is stern. Juan scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.

"My apologies, Mr. Hummel, Juan is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Anderson will be another five minutes."

Juan returns with a glass of iced water.

"Here you go Mr. Hummel."

"Thank you."

Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.

Perhaps Mr. Anderson insists on all his employees being blonde. I'm wondering idly if that's legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African-American man with a small fro exits.

He turns and says through the door. "A Meeting this week Anderson."

I don't hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. June has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She's more nervous than me!

"Good afternoon gentleman," he says as he departs through the sliding door.

"Mr. Anderson will see you now, Mr. Hummel. Do go through," Blonde Number Two says. I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my satchel, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.

"You don't need to knock – just go in." She smiles kindly.

A/N: yes it's a cliffhanger! So how was it so far? Please review it would mean a lot to me. Any ideas or feedback is welcomed. Don't forget to follow the story I will be updating at least once a week. (Honestly though reviews of any kind help me feel more encouraged therefore I tend to update faster). – SteviStories


	2. Chapter 2 - They Meet

A/N: Hi, remember when I said I would try to update once a week? That didn't really work out like I planned... (Darn life for preoccupying my time so I don't have time to write). That being said I cannot believe the response I have gotten from this story. It makes me so happy :,) before I continue the story here I'm going to fit in some responses to some of the reviews I've gotten really quick.

jojo2116: I like the story so far. You got it on point but I would love to reverse the characters Kurt is more Christian in my eyes and Blaine is Ana. I love it keep up writing :)

Thanks, I can see Kurt being into that stuff and canon Blaine is so very reserved so it could fit. I think the reason I did it how I did was because I'm into Dark!Blaine/Dom!Blaine stuff (now you know my secret haha).

Nezabudka: I'm not a fan of Fifty Shades of Grey as I believe fans have written better smut fictiom than what is that book. That said, your take on that story looks very promising and I'm intrigued. Looking forward to reading Klaine version.

Not going to lie the fact you are not a fan of Fifty Shades but still plan on reading this makes me feel so good. Like I kind of mentioned before I won't be doing everything EXACTLY like the books. It will have more plot and less repetitive actions. Like for example, Kurt won't swoon every time Blaine looks at him. He also will not be saying "oh my" all the time. Kurt will also have a bit more of a spine than Ana does and Blaine's backstory will be different (but still troubling).

* Now on to the main event- The actual story! *

Fifty Shades of Klaine: Chapter Two

"Mr. Anderson will see you now, Mr. Hummel. Do go through," Blonde Number Two says. I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my satchel, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.

"You don't need to knock – just go in." She smiles kindly.

I shove open the heavy looking steel door only to find it being way lighter then it looked, and with all the extra force swing open and slams loudly against the steel wall. Oops. Way to go Hummel, what a great first impression you just made.

"Oh crap, uh... it was lighter then it looked my bad." I quickly explained.

"That's fine" said a man's smooth voice, full of amusement. I turn my attention to the source of the voice only to be surprised- younger and more handsome then I expected.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I was under the impression I had an appointment with a Ms. Rachel Berry, unless the information I've received was false." He said with a smile. His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it's difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

"If wasn't false, but I'm here in place her. Rach, um Rachel, Ms. Berry couldn't come. She was uh... Sick." I said awkwardly. I don't know why I was so nervous, I usually wasn't like this around people, I was usually more confident. But the way he gazed at me was unsettling. Not in a creepy way, but interest sparked in his eyes.

"Oh, and what is your relation with Ms. Berry, or as you call her, Rachel?" He asked curiously. I shifted on my legs.

"I'm her roommate, Kurt Hummel. We're best friends. We went to the same high school together in Ohio. Then we both moved to New York, and now we are roommates." Why did I just blabber like that? He doesn't care about my life story. But if my blabbering seemed to bother him he didn't show it. In fact he seemed amused by my over-explanation.

"Well it's nice to meet you, Mister Hummel." He extends a long-fingered hand to me.

"I'm Blaine Anderson. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?"  
He's so young, and attractive, very attractive. Although He's a bit short, he is dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and black tie with jet black hair smoothed back with gel, and intense, deep hazel eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice. There is no way in hell this guy is over thirty. In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. It must be the static. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. Why was I so nervous?

He waves me toward a white leather buttoned L-shaped couch.  
His office is way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there's a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white – ceiling, floors, and walls except, on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite – a series of scenes from famous Broadway musicals, all painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

"A local artist," says Anderson when he catches my gaze.  
"They're breathtaking. Some of the most emotional pieces from theatre," I murmur, distracted both by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.  
"I couldn't agree more, Mister Hummel," he replies, his voice soft and for some inexplicable reason I find myself a bit relaxed.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Adonis who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Rachel's questions from my satchel. Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder. Mr. Anderson says nothing, waiting patiently – I hope – as I become increasingly flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at him, he's watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he's trying to suppress a smile.  
"Sorry," I stutter. "I was kind of thrown into this."  
"Take all the time you need, Mister Hummel," he says.  
"Do you mind if I record your answers?"  
"Well you did already set up the recorder."  
I flush. He's teasing me? I hope. I blink at him, unsure what to say, although he did have a point.

"Did Rachel, I mean, Miss Berry, explain what the interview was for?"  
"Yes. To appear in an issue of the NYADA student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees of acting and directing."  
Oh! This is news to me, Rachel happened to forget to mention this and I'm temporarily pre-occupied by the thought that someone not much older than me – okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega successful, but still – is going to present me with this wisdom. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.  
"Good," I say, trying to act and sound as professional as possible. "I have some questions, Mr. Anderson."

A/N Next chapter will feature the actual interview. Sorry for the short chapter, I figured that a short story update was better than no update at all. I would love it if you would fill out a review (it's not necessary but greatly appreciated).


	3. Chapter 3 - The Interview

A/N: I can't believe all the attention this story is getting! For those that have reviewed/Favorite/Followed this story, you guys rock! You all are the reason I continue to write.

Also I went back and fixed some dumb mistakes in previous chapters. Also for the point of the plot making sense, I changed Blaine from an actor to a director (I figured it made more sense since he is controlling). So if you read the other chapters before 5/09/13 I suggest perhaps going back and skimming through the first two chapters again. If you read the chapters past 5/09/13 this doesn't affect you as for you already read updated and fixed chapter one and two. Sorry for any confusion this causes.

I am currently rereading the original fifty greys and am making a mental outline for this fanfic. I'm making some changes because the repetitiveness of some of the actions/phrases makes me want to scream! Dang it Ana, stop fainting, blushing and saying "oh".

* Now on to the main event- The actual story! *

Fifty Shades of Klaine: Chapter Three (the Interview)

"Good," I say, trying to act and sound as professional as possible. "I have some questions, Mr. Anderson." I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear. This wouldn't be doing this if I had hair sprayed it.

"Really?" he says sarcastically, "I had no idea." He's laughing at me. I bite my tongue before I end up saying something I will regret, pressing the start button on the recorder.

"You're very young to be so famous as a director. To what do you owe your success?" I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.  
"Business is all about people, Mr. Hummel; yes even show business applies to this. I'm very good at playing and manipulating different people's emotions. I figure out how they tick, what makes all my characters believable, what doesn't, what inspires them, and how to make them shine. I get people to be intrigued by my characters, and I reward them well." He pauses and fixes me with his piercing hazel stare.

"My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a talented actor. The bottom line is, it's always down to good actors."

"Maybe you're just lucky." This isn't on Rachel's list – but he's so full of himself. His eyes widen in surprise. Obviously no one dared of telling that to his face. Oops. Well he just got a reality check, and I probably pissed him off. Great, off to another fantastic start.

"I don't leave anything to luck or chance, Mister Hummel. The harder I work the better off I seem to be. It really is all about working hard and knowing what people want. I think it was Jennifer Hudson who said 'It's a shame to call somebody a 'diva' simply because they work harder than everybody else. I work hard, and make sure everything goes perfectly."

"You sound like a control freak." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Crap, Rachel would skin me alive if she knew I just said that.  
"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Mister Hummel," he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens.  
Why does he have such an alarming effect on me? Is it his unnaturally good looks? Or is it the way his eyes peer into me? I wish he'd stop staring at me like that. Perhaps I should just stare back. Two can play this game.

"Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things," he continues, his voice soft.

"Do you feel that you have immense power?" yep, definitely a Control Freak.  
"I employ over hundreds of people, Mister Hummel. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested show business and quit, hundreds of young actors would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so."  
My mouth drops open. I am staggered by his lack of humility. And I thought Rachel had a big ego. Holy crap, he's so arrogant. I change tack.

"And do you have any interests outside your work?"  
"I have varied interests, Mister Hummel." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. Like he has some inside joke but won't share. "Very varied." And for some reason, I'm confounded and heated by his steady gaze. His eyes darken with some wicked thought.

"But if you work so hard, what do you do to relax?"  
"Relax?" He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. He really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking, especially someone as big-headed as him.

"Well, to 'chill out' as you put it – I play music, I box; I indulge in various physical pursuits." He shifts in his chair. "I'm a very wealthy man, Mister Hummel, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies."  
I glance quickly at Rachel's questions, wanting to get off this subject.

"You invest in the arts, why, specifically?" I ask. Why does he make me so uncomfortable? I shift slightly in my seat.  
"I like to create things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of music. What can I say?"  
"That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts."  
His mouth quirks up, and he stares appraisingly at me.  
"Possibly, though there are people who'd say I don't have a heart."  
"But why would they say that?"  
"Perhaps it's because they know me so well." His lip curls in a wry smile.  
"Would your friends say you're easy to get to know?" And I regret the question as soon as I say it. It's not on Rachel's list.  
"I'm a very private person Mr. Hummel. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don't often give interviews."  
"Why did you agree to do this one?"  
"Because I'm a benefactor of the University, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn't get Miss Berry off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity."  
I know how stubborn Rachel can be. That's how she got into NYADA, and also it's why I'm sitting here squirming uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze, when I should be Practicing an audition song for my next NYADA audition, or at the Vogue offices working. If anyone knew how stubborn Rachel Barbra Berry was, it was me.  
The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it's just me. I just want this interview to be over. Surely Rachel has enough material now? I glance at the next question.  
"Your family is very successful, how far do you think that's shaped the way you are?" Oh shit, this is personal. I stare at him, hoping he's not pissed. His brow furrows.  
"Well certainly has raised the bar for me."  
My interest is piqued.  
"Why didn't you go into business and law like your father?"  
"That's a matter of my own interests, Mr. Hummel. I believe that's common knowledge about me." His tone is stern. Crap. Yes of course – if I'd known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research. I move on quickly.  
"You've had to sacrifice a family life for your work."  
"That's not a question." He's abrupt.  
"Sorry." And he's made me feel like a fool. I try again. "Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?"  
"I have a family. I have a brother and two parents. I'm not interested in extending my family beyond that."  
"Are you gay, Mr. Anderson?"  
He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. I can't believe I just asked that! What if he gets offended or is homophobic?

"Ummm, sorry, that can be really personal. I mean not that it's a bad thing, you know.. to be gay. I mean I am." I rambled nervously. Why did I just tell him my sexuality. Great now he might think im trying to hit on him.

"No Kurt, I'm not." He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. His eyebrows raise up as if daring me to comment on it.  
"I apologize. It's um… written here." It's the first time he's said my name. It sounds like a melody coming out of his velvet voice. He cocks his head to one side.  
"These aren't your own questions?"  
The blood drains from my head. Oh no. He probably thinks I'm an idiot.  
"Err… no. Rach– Miss Berry– she made the list of questions."  
"That explains a great deal." Now I just feel embarrassed.  
There's a knock at the door, and Blonde Number Two enters.  
"Mr. Anderson, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes." I make o stand up but he puts his hand up as to stay put.

"We're not finished here. Please cancel my next meeting." She hesitates, gaping at him. She's appears lost. He turns his head slowly to face her and raises his eyebrows.  
"Very well, Mr. Anderson," she mutters, then exits quickly. He frowns, and turns his attention back to me.  
"Where were we, mister Hummel?"  
Oh, we're back to this now. Fine, be that way.  
"If you're busy, I can leave." I really don't want to hold him up, plus its getting more awkward by every minute that passes.  
"I want to know about you. I think that's only fair." His gray eyes are alight with curiosity. Umm, I didn't agree to this. Where's he going with this?

"There's not much to know," I say trying not to play his game.  
"What are your plans for the future?"  
I shrug, thrown by his interest. (Why does he even care?) Come to New York, graduate from NYADA,get famous. I haven't really thought beyond one way or another getting in to NYADA.  
"I haven't made any plans, Mr. Anderson. I just need to getinto NYAYA." Which I should be practicing right now for future auditions, rather than sitting in your over glamorous office, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze while you ask me questions.  
"I'm sure I can find a way to get you in if you are part of the intership here that is. We run an excellent internship program here," he says quietly. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is he offering me a job?  
"Oh. I'll bear that in mind," I murmur, completely confounded. "Though I'm not sure I'd fit in here." Oh no. I'm musing out loud again.  
"Why do you say that?" He cocks his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.  
"It's obvious, isn't it?" I'm not a girl (although have been called one by many).  
"Not to me," he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.  
"Would you like me to show you around?" he asks.  
"I'm sure you're far too busy, Mr. Anderson, and I do have a long drive."  
"Did you get everything you need?" he asks.  
"Yes sir," I reply, packing the recorder into my satchel. His eyes narrow, speculatively.  
"Thank you for the interview, Mr. Anderson." I say politely.  
"The pleasure's been all mine," he says, sounding sincere.  
As I rise, he stands and holds out his hand.  
"Until we meet again, Mister Hummel." And it sounds like he seems sure of it.. I frown. When will we ever meet again? I shake his hand once more, astounded that that odd current between us is still there.

" ." I nod at him. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.  
"Just ensuring you makes it through the door Mister Hummel." He gives me smirk. Obviously, he's referring to earlier.  
"What a gentleman, Mr. Anderson," I snap, and his smile widens. I'm glad you find me entertaining jerk. As I am walking into the foyer I'm surprised when he follows me out. Is he going to follow me home? His long index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his. The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here, I'm getting some weird vibes. When I turn to look at him, he's leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. He really is very, very good-looking. It's distracting. His burning Hazel eyes gaze at me.  
"Kurt," he says as a farewell.  
"Blaine," I reply. The doors close.

A/N: Yay this is the longest chapter yet! Please feel free to leave a review/suggestion. Ta-ta for now -Stevi


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